Thirty Or So Left
by Elias A
Summary: Spoilers for Book V. Set immediately after the ending, a 24 hour look into Harry's thoughts.


_Disclaimer: I do not own any of J.K. Rowling's glorious creations.  
  
*Spoilers for The Order of the Phoenix.*  
  
Thirty Or So Left  
  
_  


  
Thy moved into the Dursley's car without fanfare. Harry could still hear the voices of cheery reunions from where he stood, maneuvering his trunk into the back. His aunt and uncle said nothing as they climbed into their respective seats, Dudley following suit. Harry couldn't put any energy towards this unusual occurrence, considering the people that had just confronted them and the words that had been exchanged. Rather he moved behind the driver's seat and sat numbly, waiting for the ride to be over.  
  
The only noises came from outside the car. Inside, Vernon said nothing as he steered their way back to Privet Drive, though clearly shaken in an irritated manner by the words of Moody. Dudley moved through his assortment of electronics intended to keep him occupied, seemingly intent on showing Harry he wasn't interested or intimidated by his presence. Hedwig sat in her cage, asleep on her perch, the rustle of her feathers a melancholy reminder of the world he was stepping away from. His Aunt Petunia, however, was the one who kept Harry from sliding into a semiconscious state of pain he was coming to know very well. He stared at the passing world, alternating between his passenger window and the more expansive one in front and as he glanced forward, he distinctly saw his aunt eye him in the rearview mirror.  
  
Harry couldn't be bothered to show his surprise. He glanced uninterestedly back at her, realizing any other point in time prior to this would have left him questioning his aunt's sudden decision to acknowledge his existence. Instead, he switched to staring solely out the passenger window, again wishing he was away from anyone.  
  
When the welcoming facade of the suburb road rolled into view, Harry mentally stirred himself to act human and retrieve his belongings from the car's trunk. His aunt, uncle and cousin walked into the house, Dudley leaving the door open, more so out of laziness than for Harry's consideration.  
  
Lugging his trunk up the walk, up the stairs and down the hall, Harry paid no attention to the fact that Vernon did not demand to lock his wizard belongings away. A nearly conscious portion of his mind realized he was quickly becoming oblivious to the world around. That same repressed part of him realized the danger as well.  
  
Half listening to the Dursley's settle in, Petunia bustling around the kitchen to prepare supper, Harry gazed around his room, setting Hedwig down. Little had changed.  
  
Someone had vacuumed, which registered as only a small note of surprise in his mind, and several of Dudley's old belongings had been removed. It only made the room look more empty. He could have begun to move his clothes back into the wardrobe, clean up Hedwig's cage for her, or begin to organize the summer reading he would need to complete. Instead, Harry sat down on the bed, his back hunched slightly and stared at the opposite wall.  
  
His thoughts existed in a warring universe, expending all energy his physical body produced. His immediate mind, would return to Sirius's fall towards the curtained arch and a strange biting sensation would clench his stomach as he relived the moment. Then another portion of his mind would hurry to act, feebly attempting to drive away the horrific image with memories of him and Sirius. He would think of his Godfather's face when he had told him how badly he had wanted to live with him. And when he had saved him from the dementors. And on Christmas, when the shadowed face had come alive in the sparkle of Christmas time lights. And of . . .  
  
And then the tears would come. Prickling very slowly behind his eyes, threatening to move forward. The moment of pleasant memories would pass, replaced by a hollow pain much greater than the one preceding it. Harry would realize the futility of believing that the departed would live on in the heart and memories of those who had loved him. It made such little difference when the pain and the hurt was so immediate and alive.  
  
And as he fought the tears, his mind would frantically grab to anything it could use to stop the slide into depression and misery. For fleeting seconds, he would think of Cho. He would visualize McGonagall returning with her walking stick. He would think of what Fred and George's joke shop looked like. He would think of the taste of the Pumpkin pasties and the colors of the quilt Hermione had made for Kreacher.  
  
_Kreacher . . ._  
  
And inevitably, some part of these random clips of thought would lead him back to Sirius. Guilt would take over in its full form and Harry would feel his face flush in something nearing self hatred. He would descend upon the road of what ifs and for endless stretches of time, contemplate how he could have avoided causing Sirius's death.  
  
Eventually, the thoughts of Sirius would consume him completely, and the realization that he was gone would stab at him forcefully, leaving him shaking in a riot of anguish. This violent misery would slowly recede, leaving its deadly brother in its place. And Harry would slide further into depression, thinking again of Sirius's moment of death, and begin the cycle anew.  
  
Several hours passed, as Harry lived trapped inside his own strangling thoughts. Hedwig's tapping brought him back to the reality he was being forced to call home. It was beginning to darken and she wanted to feed.  
  
Harry numbly let her out, though she paused on the windowsill, eyeing him in a manner Harry would have been able to diagnose any other day prior to this one. Or so he was beginning to believe.  
  
He realized the Dursley's were upstairs, settling into bed. There was a plate of food at his door, which he moved towards Hedwig's cage, determined that if he would not stomach food, Hedwig should enjoy it.  
  
Night settled quickly upon the house, and the night found him back on his bed. He lay down, in compliance to his aching back, and continued to stare at the wall. Every few hours he would sink into an unconscious state that really couldn't be considered sleep. His thoughts remained identical whether his eyes were open or not, and though they should have developed into more elusive dreams, they remained rigid and unwavering instead.  
  
Hedwig returned sometime during the night, and he half heard her tapping on the plate he had left for her. The sun rose, and he realized a day had passed. There were only thirty or so left for him to exist in this state. With a shuddering gasp, Harry wished badly for another human. Ron, Hermione, Dumbledore, Tonks . . . anyone . . .   
  
The need eventually passed, and Harry rolled over, away from the rising sun. He could probably expect an owl today.  
  
The sun rose and a warm breeze swept through the open window. Hedwig came and went, eventually falling asleep on her perch. A scuffle at the flap alerted him to a new meal.  
  
And life continued for Harry Potter.


End file.
